


let's pretend this never happened

by wanderloved



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderloved/pseuds/wanderloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has wanted Monroe for longer than she cares to admit. But now that she's had him, she's realizing that once just wasn't enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's pretend this never happened

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Revolution fic (and probably my second piece of fanfiction ever) so I really hope it's not awful! I've read a LOT of what's out there, and this fandom has some truly incredible writers. This is also the first time I've ever written smut, which is way harder than it seems.

There is an intimacy, laying on the dirty forest floor, completely spent and glistening with a sheen of sweat, that Charlie never imagined sharing with Sebastian Monroe. Their bodies aren’t touching, but she is utterly aware of Monroe sprawled naked next to her, his body recovering from the best sex Charlie’s ever had. She lays in silence, hypersensitive to everything around her. The early morning sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees, the rustle of small animals nearby, what sounds like moving water somewhere in the far distance.

Charlie’s dreamed about fucking Monroe almost from the first day they met. He disgusted her; she was physically repulsed by his presence, but she never could deny the attraction she felt. The fact that, were he not General Monroe, she would long to dig her fingers into his lush curls and press herself against his lithe, muscular body. Even his militia uniform couldn’t hide the spectacular body laid beside her. This release was a culmination of everything they’d been through since the day she sat beside her bleeding brother, Monroe forcing her mother to choose between her long-lost children. A part of Charlie wishes she’d died that day, when she took the decision out of her mother’s hands and told Strausser to shoot her. Maybe then none of this would have happened. Maybe Danny would still be alive, maybe the Patriots would never have come back to ruin their lives, maybe…

Suddenly self-conscious, Charlie reaches for her shirt to cover herself. She is surprised to be pinned into place by Monroe’s arm slung across her bare stomach. She breathes in shallowly at the contact and turns to face him. An uncharacteristic smile spreads across Monroe’s face when their eyes meet, and Charlie isn’t sure how to react. She’s seen Monroe’s smirk, his face when he’s about to do something he knows she and her family won’t like, but she’s never seen this expression. It looks almost like joy, but Charlie must be misinterpreting. He’s manipulating her. He wants her to feel comfortable, to let her guard down, though she’s not sure how much lower her guard can get, laying naked on the forest floor with his arm across her. She never felt this vulnerable with her former lovers. She was never one to get attached, and she’s not about to start now. Not with him. Besides, Monroe isn’t her lover. Not like Jason was, or even Connor. There’s no way what happened last night is ever going to be repeated.

He shifts closer to her until he is pressed against her side. His fingers run across her stomach in senseless patterns, shifting up her torso to cup one of her breasts. Her breath hitches when his fingertips find her nipple, and she closes her eyes, arching up against his hand.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He whispers coarsely into her ear, one arm slipping under her and pulling her up to straddle him with ease. He gazes up at her irreverently, and Charlie still doesn’t know what to make of this. This isn’t what sex with Sebastian Monroe was supposed to be like. It was supposed to be rough, passionate, almost impersonal. The way that Monroe is looking at her puts her on edge, and she pulls away.

“Stop. What are you doing?” She scrambles off of him, searching the brush for her clothes. She needs to get out of here. This is so, so wrong. She got Sebastian Monroe out of her system. They’re done.

“Well, I was planning on having another round of mind-blowing sex, but if you’re done…” He looks away nonchalantly, but Charlie catches a glint in his eye before he turns from her. There’s something there, something she can’t quite read. She finds her jeans and tugs them over her hips. Spotting her shirt slumped at the base of a tree, an image of Monroe pushing her up against it leaps into her head, his lips roaming up and down her throat and neck, sending chills through her body and weakening her knees. She remembers his eyes heavy on her, not looking away for an instant as he peeled her shirt over her head. She retrieves her bra and shirt in a hurry, pulling them back on and grabbing her jacket and crossbow before walking away hurriedly, barefoot.

She wants to find the source of water she heard, because she sure as hell can’t return to Miles and Rachel like this. Following the sound of the stream, she navigates the forest as quietly as she can. Her knife is gripped in her hand, just in case she encounters any unsavoury figures. She won’t be caught unawares, not today. Charlie is less skilful than many of the people she surrounds herself with, but she is not a damsel in distress. She’s hungry, but she’s too distracted to hunt with any success.

The stream is larger than she’d expected, and farther away, and by the time she reaches it Charlie’s feet are aching and bloody. She longs for the boots she left behind and drags herself across large, smooth stones that are growing hot in the sun to soothe her feet in the cool water. Digging her toes into the pebbled bottom of the stream, she relishes the relief the water rushing around her feet provides. Still gripping her knife, Charlie lays back on the rock and closes her eyes against the sun. She is so stupid. Much as she wants to, there is no way she’ll forget last night. She’ll be thinking about that night, wrapped around Monroe in so many ways, until the day she dies. Oddly, she doesn’t really regret it. She did something stupid, yes, but she enjoyed it. Oh, how she enjoyed it. She’d never come so many times in one night – she didn’t know she was able to until Monroe pried orgasm after orgasm out of her like her screams were raw diamonds. No, she didn’t regret it at all. She just wished she could leave him behind like all her other one night stands in her months away from Willoughby.

She couldn’t deny that she’d sought out men who resembled Monroe at least a bit when looking for suitable lovers to cap off a long night in a lonely bar. She’d looked for his blue eyes, his curls, his strong arms and cutting demeanour. She never quite found what she’d been looking for, not until the man, Jeff she thinks his name was, in the Plains Nation who told her where to find General Monroe himself. When she arrived in New Vegas she focused not on the ache in her gut at the sight of him, shirtless and sweaty and so arousing, but on the fact that she was there to murder him. When she told the man in the tent that she liked Monroe, she’d meant it. She liked his body, his devil-may-care attitude, the fact that he didn’t take shit from anybody. She liked that he scared the shit out of her. It was a toss-up until the last second, whether she would go into his trailer or whether she would shoot him in the head with a bolt. In the end, neither was meant to be.

She’s lost in her thoughts when she hears footsteps approaching, and she sits up wrenching her feet out of the water and scanning the edge of the forest for whatever threat might be coming her way. When Monroe emerges from the woods, she isn’t sure if she can relax or if her guard should be raised even higher in his presence. He strolls casually towards her and drops her boots and socks on the rock in front of her.

“Might want these,” he says, and sits on the rocks nearby. He is fully dressed again, snug jeans and grey v-neck and that irresistible leather jacket that drives Charlie crazy. She wants to fling herself on him, but she takes his distance as a cue that any advances she makes would be unwelcome.

“Let’s just forget last night ever happened,” Charlie says, dunking her feet back into the water. 

A long silence passes before Monroe replies. “I can’t do that. We don’t have to talk about it, and we don’t have to do it again, but I’m not going to forget that.” He catches Charlie’s eyes and she can’t look away. His gaze has always been near impossible to break. “I don’t think you will either.”

Charlie melts at the deep tone of his voice, and fails to conceal the aroused shiver the runs down her spine. 

“Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just go back to screwing Connor like before.” There is venom in Charlie’s words that she doesn’t quite understand. She wants to hurt him, and from his reaction, she succeeded. He leaps from his rock and stands over her, his face inches from hers.

“You let him lay a finger on you…” he trails off. Charlie lifts her chin in defiance.

“What’ll you do? You want to lose the only person who still puts up with your shit?”

“I don’t like sharing, Charlie.” She realises that it’s not the idea of Charlie sleeping with Connor that enrages him – it’s the idea of her sleeping with anybody. She’d be flattered if he didn't sound so fucking entitled. Charlie doesn’t respond well to threats.

“I’m not a possession to be shared.” She stands, and though she’s still looking up at him she feels less like a scolded child. 

“You really want to go back to that amateur after me. Charlie, I’m sure the kid’s good, he’s a Monroe, but c’mon.” 

“Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.” Her eyes flit to his lips, betraying her even as she insults him.

“You sounded pretty damn happy last night. If Connor made you scream like that, I’m sure we’d all have heard it by now.” Monroe’s voice dips down into the whisper that instantly makes Charlie wet every time. With an angry growl, she thrusts her arms around his neck and pulls his mouth down to hers. The aggression feels good, so different from whatever it was he’d initiated just a few hours ago. His facial hair hurts a bit against the already tender skin on her chin, but she doesn’t care. She pushes him back on the rock until he’s sitting, and this time Charlie is the one in control. He pulls away from their kiss, and Charlie takes this opportunity to remove her shirt, and tugs at Monroe’s jacket. She wants to feel his skin on hers, in the light of the sun, raw and angry and full of life. Because that’s how she feels around him – she feels alive, in a way that she hasn’t in a long time, probably since Danny died. It’s ironic, that the man responsible for killing her brother, killing her soul, is the one person capable of bringing her back to life. He pulls her hands from the hem of his shirt and as she grinds her pelvis against him, he turns her wrist over in his hand and abruptly pulls away from her in horror.

“What the hell is that?” He hisses, trying to compose himself. It takes a moment for Charlie to realise what he’s talking about. The brand, the blistered M marking her left wrist. She tries to distract him, pulling closer for another kiss, but he doesn’t let her. “Where did you get that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Charlie mumbles, wrenching her arms away and reaching for her discarded shirt once again. How didn’t he notice it last night? It may have been dark, but it’s not easily missed. 

“Charlie,” Monroe says, and it comes out more like a whimper. She turns from him, tears beginning to well as the memory of her branding comes back to her. It was worth it at the time, she reminds herself. It was never what she wanted, but she had to admit that it had come in handy more than a few times in the Republic. “I don’t know how you got that, but I’m sorry.”

It’s too much for Charlie, this unfamiliar caring in Monroe’s words. She knows how to behave around Monroe, but this is not the Monroe she has spent the last months traveling and fighting with. She wonders if this is a glimpse of the man he was before the Republic, before the power went to his head. 

“It doesn’t matter,” She says. “A lot of people had it way worse than I did. I may be branded with your name, but at least I made it out alive.”

“I’m sorry, Charlie. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. I never thought things would get so out of hand.” She stands up and paces away. She doesn’t want to hear it. His platitudes, his empty apologies, they won’t make up for everything he did. Everything he destroyed. He wasn’t capable of changing, Rachel had told her again and again. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt. She’d trusted him, and so had Miles, and he’d let them down again and again. He presses himself against her back, his fingers finding her brand and tracing the M. She can’t move, can’t pull away even though she wants to. 

“It was never just my name, you know. The M wasn’t just for Monroe.” He lifts her arm and brushes his lips along the blistered skin. The sensation sends electricity through Charlie’s limbs and her heart races. “Yours doesn’t have to be either. Ask your uncle, the M was for Matheson too. The whole time, it was both of us.” He licks her the tender, vulnerable skin of her wrist and she trembles. He guides her arm back down to her side and whispers in her ear. “You’ll probably always hate me when you look at it, but the M is your name as much as mine.”

Charlie lets out a pained groan and turns, reaching for Monroe’s bare arm. She wants to see his mark, where the brand originated. She rakes his arm with her eyes, not expecting the mess of scar tissue disguising what was once the sigil of the Monroe Republic. She doesn’t wait for an explanation before falling into him. His arms are wrapped around her instantly, and she doesn’t understand what this thing between them is, but she wants it. She wants it more than anything.

“Charlie…” Monroe sighs into the crook of her neck.

“Goddamn, shut up,” Charlie growls, and his fingers run slowly down her side and under her shirt. She arches against him and ducks her head against his collarbone. She sucks a bit of hot skin between her lips, her teeth grazing his skin and coaxing a moan from his mouth.

“Remind me, which Monroe do you want?” He teases her, turning her on more than she thought possible. She doesn’t reply.

He unzips her pants and strokes a finger down her pelvis, circling but not touching her clit. He hisses in her ear: “Who do you want, Charlie?”

She squeezes her eyes closed and angles her hips toward his hand reflexively, sighing loudly. _Touch me. Please._ “You,” she says breathily. 

She clenches at the sensation of his frenzied rubbing of her clit, then reaches her hand down over his. “Slower,” she instructs and he obeys, his fingers flitting over her more gently now. She writhes against him, all thoughts of wrong and right and the myriad reasons why this shouldn’t happen fleeing from her mind.

Monroe pulls his hand out of her pants and she lets out grunt of protest, but then he’s pushing her pants down and his lips are on hers, nibbling along her lower lip. She sighs into his mouth and his tongue slips in, rolling around hers, and she can’t think about anything but how much she wants to push him down on the rocks and ride him into oblivion. Instead, she breaks their kiss and lifts Monroe’s shirt over his head, tossing it away. She barely has time to appreciate his abs before he grabs her hips roughly and lowers them both to the ground. There’s dirt in places that Charlie never wants dirt to touch, and she dreams of a day when she’ll be able to have sex in a bed for once, but it does nothing to detract from the heat between her legs. She’s flushed all over and Monroe is laying over her, pushing her shirt over her breasts and kissing up her stomach to her hard nipples. He takes one nipple in his mouth and rolls his tongue around the nub before biting down, hard enough for Charlie to let out a yelp of surprise.

“Too hard?” Monroe lifts his head from her chest, but Charlie’s eyes are pressed shut, revelling in the combined intensity of pain and pleasure. _Whoa._

She can’t reply, but the sound she makes reassures Monroe that Charlie doesn’t mind a little roughness. She pulls him back up to kiss him again, reaching down to unzip his jeans. She pulls his pants down as far as she can from this angle, digging her fingers into Monroe’s ass. He shifts so that he can shake his pants off and grinds into her, his cock hard against her belly. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Monroe,” Charlie whimpers, lifting her hips against his. It’s pitiful how badly she wants him inside her. His hand reaches between them, his thumb rubbing her clit as one finger presses into her core. She writhes at his touch, her grip on his ass tightening. One hand traces up his back and Charlie ghosts her fingers along the nape of Monroe’s neck before plunging them into his damp curls. He lets out a low groan and Charlie remembers how much he’d loved her hands in his hair last night. It felt like she’d learned a secret that she wasn’t inclined to share with anyone else. 

“More,” she hisses, and Monroe slides a second finger inside her, crooking them slightly in hopes of sending her over the edge. She’s almost there, but it’s not quite enough. She needs him inside her, now. The hand on Monroe’s ass migrates around to wrap around his cock. He lurches against her hand and a dimpled grin spreads across her face. She pumps up and down a few times and Monroe shudders over her as she directs him toward the meeting of her thighs. She pries his fingers away from her and steers his cock into their place, needing to fill the sudden absence, needing to get off. When she moves her hand, she looks into his eyes and he pushes into her slowly, and _good god_ , he’s big and hard and so so so perfect. She hears the wet suction as he moves in and out of her, but it’s distant like an out of body experience, and she’s raking her nails across his back and bucking against him. She wants him to move faster, but he holds her in place and sticks to a slow, methodical rhythm that drives her crazy. She’s not sure if it’s the hot Texan sun or the sex that’s causing sweat to drip down her face, but she’s not complaining.

“Faster,” she whines. “Yes, like that. Fuck, that’s good. Perfect. _Fuck_ , you’re perfect.” He’s thrusting into her rapidly now and she’s right on the precipice. She loses control of her body as an intense orgasm rips through her, and she presses her face against Monroe’s shoulder, biting down hard on his collarbone to keep from crying out. She tastes a hint of blood along with sweat and something she can’t place that is determinedly Monroe. He pulls out of her as her muscles clench and spasm, her toes flexing uncontrollably, and she thinks she hears him swear loudly and spend himself on the ground between her legs.

“That was… intense.” Charlie says, once she is capable of forming words again. Her body is still trembling slightly. She traces the scars along Monroe’s back with her the pads of her fingers, her head tucked against his shoulder. He’s bleeding slightly where she bit him, and she licks up a tiny dribble of blood and sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck.

“Pretty sure you said perfect before,” he replies. One hand is still gripping her thigh, while the other tangles in her loose hair. “You bit me.”

“You bit me first,” Charlie laughs, her body shaking with the force of it. “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Never said I didn’t like it,” Monroe replies, and their strange flirtation is interrupted by the loud grumble of Charlie’s stomach.

“I guess I’ve worked up an appetite,” she laughs. Her crossbow is laying on the ground nearby and she realises that Rachel and Miles and the rest of their crew are probably wondering where she’s disappeared to. They’ve been missing all night and most of the morning, and they don’t have any excuse for their absence. Charlie had slipped away in the early evening, Monroe following closely behind, insisting that it was unsafe for her to wander around the forest on her own. Thanks to Monroe’s inability to move through the underbrush with any semblance of stealth, Charlie had nearly given up on catching dinner when he pushed her up against that tree, his mouth all over hers before she really knew what was happening. After that, all thought of food had slipped from her mind, her thoughts preoccupied with the feeling of Monroe’s desire against her thigh, his lips kissing down from her mouth to her chest, and then further. "We should probably get back before they decide to just leave us behind."

"Maybe if it was just me out here. Miles and your mother would never leave you behind," Monroe says, reluctantly searching for his clothes nonetheless.

"They would if they were smart. We could be dead for all they know." 

"I very well might be if they find out where we've been." They get dressed almost as quickly as they got undressed, and are heading back through the forest sooner than Charlie would like.

“So I guess we can’t just tell them we got lost?” Charlie says as they trudge back toward the camp, having not found any small animals to bring back to the group for breakfast (or lunch, by this point). They keep step with one another, though Monroe’s legs are longer than Charlie’s, and every so often their hands brush against one another, sending a tingling sensation up Charlie’s arm. She can still smell sex between them, and she hopes that nobody else will be able to pick up on it. 

“You, lost? Like they’d believe that. You’re the best tracker I know,” Charlie doesn’t miss the compliment, but she pretends that she doesn’t hear it.

“You got a better idea?”

“Well we definitely can’t tell them what we were really up to,”

“What was it you said before – I guess figuring out a way to sneak off and bang wasn’t so hard after all. It’s going back that’s the tough part.” Charlie quips.

Monroe grabs her forearm and pulls her against him. “It’s a lot easier when you’re sneaking around with the right person.” _God_ , Charlie’s turned on again just like that. This is a disaster waiting to happen. She presses her lips to his quickly before turning to walk back to camp, leaving Monroe peering after her for a moment before hurrying to catch up. She knows now that there’s no turning back. This disaster is unavoidable.


End file.
